


Run, Little Mouse

by Asynca



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gen Work, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speed prompt, written in 61 minutes. Prompted on Tumblr: "Spiders never feel more alive during the kill, but after so long trying to hit a target that can't be touched, Widowmaker starts loving the chase."</p><p>Please imagine this narrated in a French accent ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run, Little Mouse

 

* * *

She's so tiny. So _fragile_. She buzzes around like a little mosquito just waiting to be caught in my web.

" _Ah, je te vois_ …" I whisper, spotting her crouching beside the payload. She's alone; this is going to be a piece of cake. I line up the shot, my sight hovering at the edge of the car as I wait patiently for it to turn the corner and expose her. Unfortunately, she shifts around the vehicle to keep it between us. …has she seen me?

 _Oh well,_ I think, mentally shrugging, I suppose it doesn't matter anyway, because she can't stay there forever. I shoot a venom mine in the car's path so she has to move.

I am perfectly still, perfectly focused, laying in wait for the _split second_ I'll have to shoot her when she leaves the safety of the payload. When the car passes the venom mine, though, it's untouched.

 _What…_? I lower my rifle, looking around the area with my eyes. How could she _possibly_ have—

"Psst, what you look at?" a cheerful voice says from beside me. She's so close I can feel her breath on my cheek, and I jump. By instinct I fire at her—of course—but in an instant she's vanished into thin air leaving nothing but the whooshing sound of the air closing on itself.

 _Pest_ , I think fervently, and grapple somewhere else to start the wait again.

* * *

The next time I cross paths with her, I've shot her entire team one by one, the _fools_. They're all big and lumbering, walking around in straight lines in the broad light of day. They were practically _begging_ for it.

Her, on the other hand: she is the opposite of those things. She darts around like a blowfly, first here, then there, and it takes great precision and great effort to follow her progress. I've never faced anyone like her.

I've followed her across rooftops for the entire hot zone before I find her standing at the edge of it, standing in a doorway. The door appears to be closed.

 _Got you,_ I think indulgently, raising the Widow's Kiss to peer through the sight.

And that's when the door opens to reveal her team—all revived—and all their weapons aimed _directly_ at me. And her? She is _grinning_. I feel my heart beating for once, and barely manage to make it out alive by grappling to safety.

After _that_ unfortunate failed mission, Talon stops telling me when she's defending our targets. This doesn't bother me at all, because I _love_ to try and find her.

Every time I am sent on a mission, I listen for the _whoosh_ of closing air and sound of her infernal _giggling_. Talon may not consider her a primary target, but _I_ do. I know what she is like and how skilled she is at avoiding death.

Not skilled enough to avoid me, though. Not forever. I will catch her.

* * *

It is not me who catches her first— _unfortunately_. I've flanked her to the control room she's defending, and I am ready, _so_ ready to kill her. Today is the day, I can _feel_ it.

I've nearly shot her three times. One of the times, the bullet grazed her shoulder and tore one of her straps (she looked so angry about that, it was such a _pleasure_ to listen to her cursing at me), but none of my bullets have killed her yet.

 _Yet._ But they will.

I watch her through the thin glass—as soon as I can see her head, I will pull the trigger.

 _Any moment now_ , I think, _any moment…_

Before I can, though, I hear the sharp _snap_! of a bear trap and her cry out in pain.

My rifle drops. …was that…?

I feel my heart beating in my chest again—it's so rare to feel that these days—as I grapple over to the doorway to peek inside.

 _It might be a trap_ , I tell myself, peeking around the corner. She _always_ tries to trap me, and—

It's not. One of my _fool_ teammates who has already got himself killed left an open trap in here, and she's triggered it. She's caught. She's can't move. It's like a wet dream to me: _this_ is the moment I've been waiting for.

She's just crouched there, clutching her leg where the electrified trap has snapped closed, with tears running down her cheeks from the pain and her Chronal Accelerator flickering from the current. When she sees me, she looks up. I can see the fear in her eyes.

My heart is beating, I feel the _blood_ coursing through my veins: this is it. This is like a _dream_ to me. I have long fantasised about this very moment.

"Looks like your time has finally run out," I tell her, raising my rifle before she can reach for her pistols. She can't blink away from me now.

My finger is squeezing the trigger, ready to fire a shot into her head when she says in a panicked voice, "Amélie, _please_ don't do this…"

When I fire, the bullet _misses_ her and buries itself in the computer behind her. It is incredible, I _never_ miss a shot like this.

I line up again. Her face fills up my whole zoom, and I can see every freckle on it. I can even see each line the panicked tears have drawn on her cheeks. I _cannot_ miss this shot.

I am ready to pull the trigger. I am ready to _kill_ her.

She doesn't move.

No more mosquito. No more blowfly, she is still. I don't have to jerk my rifle all over the place to track her. I don't struggle to zoom in on her. My heart isn't _pounding_ and adrenaline isn't _filling my veins_ as I narrowly avoid her tricks or her gunfire, and I'm not grappling all over the place to _finally_ get a good vantage point on her and—

And…

—and I lower my rifle.

This is _boring_.

This is not how she is supposed to die. I am supposed to shoot her from 300 metres through two buildings and while she is trying to hide behind a shield. _That_ is how she is supposed to die. _That_ is how I want to kill her.

Not like this.

I shoot the spring on the trap that's caught her so it shatters and frees her. She doesn't try and kill me—I knew she wouldn't, she has no stomach for cold blood. She just stands here, gaping at me like a frightened child.

Her face fills with hope when she looks down at the broken trap. It makes me feel uncomfortable.

" _Run_ , little mouse," I tell her. "Run away from the cat."

She doesn't look like she's going to run, she looks like she's going to _hug_ me. For a moment I am worried she will try.

If she touches me I _will_ kill her, I think, feeling my heart beating in my chest. No one has touched me since— Well, for a long time.

In the end, she doesn't. She closes her mouth, swallows, and then with a _whoosh_! she is gone.

* * *

The next time our paths meet, it's across a 100-metre chasm on an opposite cliff. She makes a stupid face at me through the zoom on my sight, and I have to pause to _roll my eyes_ before I line up the _perfect_ shot and wait.

I am going to get that little fly.

I am going to catch her.


End file.
